


"What have you done to me?!"

by Zagzagael



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 08:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12744693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: Movie quote prompt.





	"What have you done to me?!"

You watch her, now and forever, in ways you have never watched anyone before, living or dead. She is promised goddess to your godhood and in all the aeons of your life you had not known what this would be, what it would feel and sound and taste and look like. You want to ask permission, allowance, to stare. You want her to gently close your eyes, reach out and coax your eyelids shut. So that you can, in her arms, sleep the sleep of the dead.

You realize now that you, too, are a shade, a shadow cast in darkness while the light shines above, shines on her, shines because of her. She takes great handfuls of the light and weaves it into her hair, dusts her nude shoulders with it, and swallows it so that it breaks inside her body and reflects out of her eyes.

You open the earth with your bare hands, dig out from the grave, emerg into a meadow of long grasses and flowers blooming open like a secret revealed. You want to shred them with your teeth, trample them beneath your feet. But there she is, a crown of daisies, standing startled the girl deer, the untried doe. You can see she is going to bolt and the moments between you narrow to an unbreakable filament and you use that to tie her tight against your body so that you can pull her back down into the ground with you. And that’s what you do. Exactly what you do.

But now you are the captured.

She shrugs off the coil you had bound her with, stands with all that sunlight leaking out of her, dripping off the long ends of her hair, tears refracting and falling from her eyes, but her mouth, her beautiful lips are set in a firm unbroken line as she studies you and this dismal hell of a kingdom you have inherited. She finds it wanting. You know that. You can see it, too. The dark abyss, the rivers of poisoned water, the black void you call a sea a ribbon on the unreachable horizon. The boatkeeper, the three-headed dog, the Moon herself bent and babushka-ed, and the endless wandering souls. It is not her mother’s domain and you have to be stoic to keep from falling at her feet, arms wrapping around her knees, and begging her. To what? Stay with you. The words are bitter on your tongue and you spit them into your palm. Please please please please. You extend your hand and she scoops these seeds of supplication, the arils of desire, out with her fingers and thumb and feeds them between her lips.


End file.
